


Betty Strikes Back

by Yahtzee



Series: UB Season Five: New York, New York [2]
Category: Ugly Betty
Genre: F/M, Humor, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Virtual Season/Series, part of a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-06
Updated: 2011-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-15 15:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yahtzee/pseuds/Yahtzee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When fate kicks Betty while she's down, she decides she's had it -- and plans to take the world by storm. But when she charges ahead, is she leaving Daniel behind? Meanwhile, Wilhelmina learns something interesting about her ex, just as Marc re-encounters his ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Betty Strikes Back

Betty’s hand reached out and slapped snooze on the alarm clock. Just five minutes more …

Wait. How many times had she hit snooze?

She propped herself up on her elbows, stared at the clock, and said her first word of the day: “Crap.”

The toaster’s pop-up mechanism chose that morning to break, so the bread slices had become two blackened squares by the time she finally pried them loose. The soot rising into the air set off her apartment’s smoke alarm, which continued its eardrum-piercing shrieks the entire time she finished getting ready. Finally Betty stood on her chair to mash the manual shutoff on the alarm – but the chair wobbled and sent her crashing to the floor.

“Oww!” She rolled onto her side and pulled her bruised legs up to her belly; nothing was broken, but that had hurt. Betty leaned her head tiredly against the floor, just in time for Mr. Fong downstairs to start pounding on his ceiling with his broomstick, right beneath her eardrum.

 _It’s okay_ , she told herself thirty minutes later, as she hurried out toward the closest subway stop. _You were at the hospital until late last night. You’re just getting a slow start, that’s all. Soon you’ll get your groove back._

Then she saw the MTA employee standing in front of the stop, holding a sign with the scrawled legend STATION CLOSED.

Betty groaned as she leaned against the closest lamppost. “Some mornings, there’s not enough coffee in the world.”

Another disappointed commuter gave her an odd look as he walked past.

Which was around about the time she realized the lamppost had its own sign: WET PAINT.

**

“Sorry I’m late!” she cried as she stumbled into the MODE morning meeting. Between changing into clothes that weren’t newly ruined with fresh green paint and catching the bus instead of the train to work, she’d gotten in nearly half an hour after she was supposed to.

Thank God Daniel was her boss. He simply gave her a quick, reassuring smile as he started calling the meeting to order. That was exactly the kind of thing that made the other staffers grumble that he played favorites …

Well, yes. He did. Betty sometimes tried to convince him to stop doing that, but this morning, she’d take what she could get.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Marc said, giving her a sidelong glance across the table. “Emphasis on dragged. Seriously, what was in that gutter?”

“I’m having a rough morning,” Betty replied. “You wouldn’t believe.”

“Oh, I would,” Fat Carol chimed in. “I read it in my horoscope this morning. Mercury’s in retrograde. For every single sign of the zodiac. That’s supposed to be impossible.”

“Okay, let’s get this started,” Daniel said, before pausing. “For Pisces, too?”

Wilhelmina rolled her eyes. “Astrology, Daniel? Wasn’t the Community of the Phoenix enough New Age mumbo-jumbo for you?”

 _Ouch_ , Betty thought. Wilhelmina’s jabs were less frequent these days, but she still aimed below the belt.

Daniel hurriedly returned to the subject. “Obviously we need to discuss the September issue, but today we’ve got more pressing matters on the table. Namely, the impending consolidation of Meade Publications offices.” He started a PowerPoint that his temp assistant must have done for him; it looked pretty good. Betty felt relieved that at least one of her former responsibilities was being taken care of, competently, by someone else. “MODE, as the flagship publication, remains in the same place. Partly because I keep my stuff here. Anyway. We’re going to be sharing accounting and printing staffs with multiple publications from here on, which is going to require tighter time management and greater accountability across the board. Also, we’ll be partitioning the in-house photo studio for simultaneous use by at least three magazines – from now on, we have to make room for HUDSON and MYW.”

“MYW?” Betty wrinkled her nose. “Are they coming back here?”

Daniel’s best effort at appearing blasé wasn’t totally convincing, but she had to admit he gave it his best. “With THE CUP folding, we had the office space available in this building, and the separate MYW offices are a luxury we need to take off the balance sheet.”

Betty had only realized MYW was leaving when, a couple weeks after its debut issue, Ruthie had ridden down in the elevator with her, holding a big cardboard box with her own good-luck bunny inside. Ruthie had refused to speak to “the enemy,” which was kind of sad, but if it had to be Team Sofia vs. Team Daniel, Betty was content to remain on Team Daniel. “Where did they go, anyway?”

“New Jersey,” Daniel said with a certain satisfactionsu8 . “Just off the Turnpike. Dad’s idea.”

Wicked grins broke out throughout the meeting room, and Betty couldn’t resist one of her own. Yes, she was tired, she was worried about her father, she still felt like her whole life was in the Dumpster … but it was sweet to think of Sofia Reyes’ flabbergasted face when Bradford Meade had told her to move her swanky magazine offices to _Jersey._

“Your father was a master of revenge,” Wilhelmina said to Daniel, her former prickliness faded into genuine admiration. “A consummate artist. I always appreciated that about him.”

Marc nodded as he whispered to Wilhelmina, at the edge of what Betty could hear: “It really is a shame you two never made that baby. It would have been a tiny, drooling Machiavelli.”

“Thanks, Wilhelmina. I’m sure that would’ve meant a lot to him.” Was Daniel joking or not? Betty wasn’t sure; she thought Daniel wasn’t either. “Anyway, they’re coming back. We have to make room. So, affected departments, get a game plan together by Wednesday morning.”

When the meeting broke up, Betty sought Daniel out – a task made easier because he was seeking her too. “Betty, hey. How’s your dad?”

“A little better.” _A little_ being the important part: Papi was still so weak that it hurt her heart just to look at him. But she wanted to focus on the bright side. That was the only way to keep going. “He’s talking a lot more now. Even griped about the hospital food last night. He might get to come home next week, if he keeps improving.”

“That’s great!” Daniel squeezed her shoulder, then took his hand away awfully quickly. She wondered if something on her dress had pricked his hand. A bit of leftover price tag, maybe? But surely Marc would have spotted it, and the ridicule would have begun. “You know you can have more time off, if you need it.”

“I took three days already,” Betty said. “I’ll save the rest for – just in case, you know?” She couldn’t think about all the terrifying possibilities _just in case_ stood for. So, as they walked through the Tube, she changed the subject. “So, Sofia’s coming back to the building.”

“It was nearly four years ago.” Daniel spoke so quickly that Betty could tell he’d rehearsed this, probably by talking to himself in the mirror. He did that sometimes to buck himself up. “I’m over it. I’m sure she’d rather not bring it up. So I don’t intend to.”

Betty gave him a sidelong look. “Are you planning on taking the stairs instead of the elevator again?”

Daniel opened his mouth, then closed it, before trying, “I _have_ put on a couple pounds this year…”

“Don’t you dare! This is your building, Daniel. Literally. Your name is on it. You run the business that employs Sofia Reyes, and you can send her packing the minute you want to.”

“Actually, I can’t.” They paused in front of the receptionist’s desk; Amanda’s replacement, no more vigilant than Amanda had been, was too busy leafing through a copy of US WEEKLY to pay them any attention. “These days, any print magazine that makes money is invaluable. MYW is one of the pubs that keeps Meade Publications in the black, and Sofia’s a big part of the reason why. I can’t afford to forget that.” Daniel folded his arms in front of him. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Betty sighed. She wasn’t looking forward to running into Sofia either. Learning that her one-time idol had used and manipulated her, all to hurt and humiliate the guy who had turned into her best friend … it somehow made her even angrier now than it had back then. Maybe she would take the stairs. “Hang in there, okay? You’re worth ten Sofias, and we both know it.”

“Hardly.” But Daniel’s face lit up at the praise, becoming almost boyish. He was unbelievably cute when he did that. Too bad he knew it.

“And hey, maybe you’ll get lucky and avoid her for the first few weeks or so, until it’s not weird anymore.”

“That would help, but I doubt I’ll get that lucky. Mercury’s in retrograde, remember?” He grabbed some phone messages from the reception desk and headed toward his office, calling over his shoulder, “Even for Pisces!”

Even in the middle of a crappy morning, that joke was enough to make Betty smile.

**

On the other side of MODE’s offices, Wilhelmina Slater wasn’t smiling. At all.

“You seem … distracted,” Marc said as he dropped off a skinny latte for her; though this was no longer his job, she noticed he’d kept up little tasks like this, perhaps as bribes. She preferred to think of them as tribute. “That, or I went too heavy on the injections this time.”

“I’m bored, Marc.” She leaned back in her chair, studying the perfection of her white-on-white office and finding it lacking for the first time ever. Redecorating would at least be something to do. “I always felt overworked here at MODE. But now I’m learning … when you take the skullduggery out of this job, it really frees up a lot of time. At my skill level, actually being creative director only uses about four hours a day.”

“Well, then, we need to get you plotting again.” Marc sat in one of the chairs, crossing his legs as he tapped his fingers against his own latte. “Surely there’s someone out there who deserves a heapin’ helpin’ of Slater-style vengeance.”

“The Meades are circus clowns, but we’ve declared a permanent truce,” Wilhelmina sighed. “My sister’s condition is improving. My daughter remains in an unknown location. Anna Wintour’s new bodyguards are former Mossad agents. So they’re all beyond my reach or my desire for revenge. Truly, there are no worlds left to conquer.”

Marc considered that before venturing, “You know, I’ve always wondered what would happen if you used your powers for good. Like, I believe you could actually take down Mugabe. Kim Jong Il, maybe? Seriously, I think all you need to make it happen is a secret lair and maybe a jetpack.”

“You’ve been watching X-Men movies on your laptop again, haven’t you?”

He shrugged, an admission. “Hugh Jackman in leather. It’s a weakness.”

Wilhelmina waved him off. “Shoo. If I come up with any plans for world domination – or anything else to do this afternoon – I’ll let you know.”

“Your number-one henchman is ready and waiting!” Marc called cheerily as he walked out the door.

She put her chin in her hand and drummed her perfectly manicured nails on the desk. Perhaps she could get a gel treatment for her hands at lunch. That would kill another … 45 minutes.

Finally, in frustration, Wilhelmina picked up the remote and turned on her TV. As ever, it was tuned to Fashion TV; the first image she saw was Suzuki St. Pierre’s grinning face. “Cover Girls Revisited!” An image of the debut issue of MYW rotated into focus behind him. “Word on the street is that foxy feminist avenger Sofia Reyes is on her way back into New York and the Meade Publications offices … even though her famous dump-ee, Manwhore Hall of Fame 2010 nominee Daniel Meade, is now head of the company! That should make for some tense times around the water cooler!”

Since she would already be watching that particular melodrama play out before her eyes whether she wanted it or not, Wilhelmina began clicking through her other channels … something she’d never done before. Good God, was this what she’d come to? Surfing around for reality shows? Next thing you knew, she’d take up crafts, or start to cook, or something else utterly demented.

“…next, on ‘Septuplet Moms on Meth’ …” Click.

“Well, now, Opie, folks can be funny sometimes.” Click.

“We’re going to add an ‘art element’ to this wall by framing some leaves of the dead plants they already have on their back porch!” Click.

“The rioting broke out just around dawn, which prison officials say suggests a coordinated protest …”

Wilhelmina began to press on the channel arrow of her remote in the split second before she saw a face in the prison crowd. A face she would have known anywhere –

Click.

“Now, fold in that delicious Gruyere, smooth and even strokes…”

Quickly she flicked back to the news channel, but while they continued to show scenes of the prison from the air, there were no more close-ups. And she couldn’t rewind past the point where she’d changed the channel.

Hastily, Wilhelmina scribbled down the name of the prison where the riot was taking place. If she had that information, then it wouldn’t be hard to find out if she’d really seen the person she thought she’d seen.

Whether she’d found Connor Owens again at last.

**

How to accessorize a jetpack? It was an interesting question, Marc mused. He imagined Wilhelmina in a sort of skin-tight white catsuit – that was a gimmie – but how did you throw together the rest of the outfit? Perhaps a couple of Lucite bangle bracelets. The earrings couldn’t dangle, because they might catch in the jetpack’s straps, but diamond studs would work nicely. Or would emeralds have that Kryptonite flair? Add a silver mesh scarf knotted around the throat, thigh-high boots: superhero perfection.

As he walked into the photo studio, he tried to bring his thoughts around to work-related matters again. But his mind first sprang to the idea of a superhero-themed photo spread. Couldn’t they do something like that the next time they were featuring a female celeb who had a movie like that coming out? They could show golden bracelets fit for Wonder Woman. Figure out what Supergirl was wearing for modesty under that skirt. (Seriously, a skirt for a girl who can fly? How Kardashian could you get?) Hugh Jackman in leather. It had potential. Marc resolved to put that in his ideas file for later.

“Okay, people!” He called out. “What’s the story?”

“The HUDSON guys are already here,” one assistant grumbled. “They just, like, commandeered almost the whole east side of the studio.”

“Well, as long as they didn’t claim more than one-third, I guess it doesn’t matter,” Marc said.

“The east side is where the bathrooms are.”

“Oh, we are so claiming that space.” Marc swept past her. “Excuse me. I’ll see to this.”

He walked toward the photo shoot; all he had to do was follow the beat of the music and the whirr of the wind machines. They seemed to be doing some sort of a post-apocalyptic thing, clothes artfully mussed, faux wreckage all around the delicious male models. Nicely done, really, but an artful setup did not give them the right to claim potty supremacy.

“Hello there!” he called as he walked up to the photographer – who then turned around.

And was Cliff St. Paul.

“Hello there,” Cliff said. His face showed no sign of surprise or dismay; obviously he’d had a chance to brace himself for this possibility. Marc, who hadn’t, figured he probably looked like a bad emoticon. “The space was empty this morning, so we went ahead and set up. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

“For today,” Marc managed to say. “So. This is awkward.”

Cliff shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be. I mean – we’re professionals. We’re doing our jobs. Simple enough, right?”

“Right. Of course.” _He’s lost all the weight. All of it. And his hair – it’s perfect – it’s like he took lessons from Betty! Is there some sort of new underground fashion camp for the unkempt?_ “We’ll – ah – we’ll work out permanent places for the photo setups this afternoon.”

“I’m just a freelancer.” Still maddeningly calm, even blasé, Cliff returned to his work. “I’ll let you know who to talk to at HUDSON.”

“Sure,” Marc said to Cliff’s back. “Great.”

Just like that, a guy who always used to make him feel like a million dollars had just made him feel invisible.

**

 _Headed out,_ Daniel texted Betty. _Got time to grab a coffee after?_

The answer came swiftly. _I shouldn’t admit this to my boss, but I’m already in the lobby. The trip out to the hospital takes forever. Lunch tomorrow?_

 _Sure thing._

He shouldn’t have felt so disappointed. Of course Betty would spend every extra second with her sick father. But she had looked so worn-out and beaten-down this morning; she needed a break.

And, rather selfishly, he wanted her to spend that break with him. Daniel knew he needed to be patient, to respect what Betty was going through, but it was so hard. You couldn’t just figure out you were in love with your best friend and then not do anything about it for days on end – not without making yourself a little bit crazy.

Well, he had a lunch date, at least. Even if he couldn’t start sounding her out about a relationship yet, he could make sure she had a little fun, and a really good meal.

As he waited for the elevator, Daniel typed out, _Hey, do you want to try Café Un Deux Trois? My treat._

 _Isn’t that place fancy?_

 _Not stuffy fancy,_ he texted, stepping into the elevator without looking up from his iPhone. _Delicious fancy._

 _I like the sound of delicious fancy. You’re on. OK, subway now. See you 2morrow!_

As Daniel smiled down at Betty’s message, he heard a voice say, “I have to admit – you know how to play it cool.”

Slowly he lifted his head to see Sofia Reyes, in the flesh, for the first time since their final farewell in the TV studio three and a half years ago.

She looked good. Great, even. Dammit. Red pencil skirt, black top cut low enough to show off her assets without being unprofessional, thick shining hair flowing halfway down her back. Daniel, meanwhile, was uncomfortably aware that he’d ditched his tie before leaving the office and was still growing out his weird haircut.

 _Keep it professional,_ he told himself. “Settling in?”

“It’s quite a transition … after New Jersey.” Sofia’s smile was rueful. “But yes, we’re settling in quite well.”

“Fine.”

As far as Daniel was concerned, that was all they had to say to each other, on this elevator ride or any other. Sofia, however, kept looking in his direction; it was creepy how he could feel her eyes on him.

Creepier still to remember that he’d loved her – or loved someone he thought she was. Their relationship might have been fake, but the love he’d felt had been absolutely real. It was as if Sofia was impersonating the real woman he’d cared for so passionately, though he knew by now that woman didn’t really exist. Standing here with her now awakened a strange sensation within him, repulsed and yet fascinated. Like how he would feel if somebody sent a Molly-fembot to assassinate him. Oh, great, now he had that mental image in his head too.

“Listen,” Sofia said. “I know it’s none of my business, but there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“Go ahead.” What did it matter? Better to get it over with than to deny her that small request, which would show her how much she could still get under his skin.

“Do you know how Betty’s doing?”

Daniel looked back at her, startled, but only for the first moment. Sofia had genuinely liked Betty. Of course she’d wonder. But he didn’t want to talk about Betty’s troubles, like Mr. Suarez’s illness; that was too personal to share with somebody neither of them liked. So he concentrated on the positive. “She’s … like this force of nature, you know? Lights up the whole office. I think she’s writing more these days, too. Oh, her blog just won an award.” A Bloggy? A Bloopy? He couldn’t remember. Better to leave it vague.

A little frown line appeared between Sofia’s eyebrows. “You mean, Betty’s still working for you at MODE?”

“Well, yeah. She’s not my assistant anymore, though.” He liked bragging on Betty. “She’s an assistant editor now. Has been for almost a year.”

“So she was your assistant for _three years._ ”

The judgment was right there – not explicit, but lying out there, like bait on a hook, waiting for Daniel to take it. He attempted to resist. “Yes. Four minus one is three.”

“Well.” Sofia shrugged. “That surprises me.”

The bait dangled just overhead, so tempting, so near. He stared resolutely at the elevator doors, but couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Betty’s very loyal.”

“She’d have to be.”

Daniel bit. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, I’m surprised that you kept someone as talented as Betty in such an insignificant job for three years. And I’m surprised Betty stayed with someone who treated her the way you did.”

“Excuse me?”

“Making her pick you up when you were drunk so you could vomit all over her house?” Oh, damn, he had told Sofia about that, hadn’t he? “Or making her sit outside on the stoop late at night to make sure your girlfriends didn’t run into each other?”

He hadn’t told Sofia that. Which meant Betty had told her. He didn’t blame Betty – at the time, she’d thought Sofia was a friend, and him doing that … it really had sucked.

Shit, he was the worst boss ever. Yeah, he’d gotten better, but he still screwed up all the time. Even when she won her Bloopy, he’d acted like an ass.

Was he kidding himself to think that Betty would ever want to go out with him after all that? At the moment, he felt like it was impossible. Like he was the world’s biggest fool for even believing that could ever happen.

But he said only, “Water under the bridge. Besides – you should be glad Betty’s showed me how to let bygones be bygones.”

Sofia raised her eyebrows. “Touche, Daniel.” He had the vague sense he’d just won a point.

As they reached the lobby, he felt like at least he could end this on a high note. So Daniel walked confidently out of the opening elevator doors – and ran straight into an assistant carrying a full tray of coffees, which splashed all over him. Sofia glided past the mess without a word.

“I’m sorry!” the assistant chirped, as she desperately tried to mop him down with a paper napkin.

“It’s okay,” Daniel said. Some coffee dripped from the tip of his nose. “Don’t worry about it.”

 _Mercury_ , he thought. _Retrograde._

**

Betty lifted the cover off her father’s hospital tray and tried to act enthusiastic. “Check it out! We have – a kind of chicken brothy thing! Plus Jell-O. Green Jell-O. Everyone knows the green kind is the best.”

“I’m – so sick – of Jell-O.” Her father tried to smile, to turn it into a joke, but she knew he was thinking of the meals he would fix at home, the kind of stuff he was never supposed to eat again: burritos, cheeseburgers, deep-dish pizza. “But hey. At least – it’s green.”

“Take it easy, Papi.” Hilda put one hand out as Dad tried to ease himself into a higher sitting position. “Don’t strain yourself.”

“Hilda, I’m just trying to – lift a spoon. If I can’t do that – you can go ahead – and put me on the cart.”

“Dad! Don’t even joke about that!” Hilda’s face looked almost comically dismayed, both at her father’s dark humor and the fact that she’d just shouted at him.

Meanwhile, Elena was pacing at the door. “Twenty minutes. They said he’d get his medication in twenty minutes. And where are they?”

Worried, Betty checked the time on her phone, then frowned. “It’s only been eighteen minutes.”

“But he has to swallow it! That takes time!” Elena had designated herself SuperNurse for the duration of Dad’s hospital stay, which so far mostly involved terrorizing the hospital staff. At least it seemed to amuse Dad.

The nurse walked in with the medication, as if on cue; Elena glared at her but said nothing. While the nurse checked in with her father, Betty drew Hilda into the hallway. “Listen,” she said. This hurt even to say out loud – even to think about – but she knew her duty. “I’ve been thinking. About – about moving back home to help out.”

Unexpectedly, Hilda said, “You don’t have to do that. Bobby, Justin and I had a long talk. We’re gonna live in the house together instead of looking for our own place, at least for the time being. Easier that way.”

“But I can still help more if I’m there – ”

“Well, sure. I figure you can come stay on the weekends, so Bobby and I can get a little newlywed time at his place. You and me, it’ll be like we’re taking shifts, you know?” Hilda gave her an uneven smile. “Elena’s going to try to get a leave of absence to stay out here for a few weeks too, so that’s one more person who would be in the house. We’ve only got room for so many. Besides, you and me, we fight enough over the bathroom as it is. Add Bobby in the mix? Seriously, his hair is, like, half an inch long, but you would not believe how long it takes that man to get ready in the morning.”

Betty had to laugh. “Okay. I’ll take weekends.”

Her whole way home after visiting hours ended, however, Betty kept turning that conversation over and over in her mind. Though Betty knew Hilda was trying to be fair and reasonable, instead of lashing out the way she had after their father’s first heart attack, the idea of spending only her weekends in Queens seemed even worse than the idea of giving up her Manhattan apartment again. Instead of being wholly on her own or wholly a part of her family, she would be torn in two. Spending twice the amount of time on the subway. Half her clothes in one place, half in another. It wasn’t that bad, but even that one small layer of stress, added onto everything else, was enough to make her want to tear out her hair.

As she trudged up the subway steps and headed onto her street, lost in thought, she wondered whether Daniel would let her come in a little later on Monday mornings – that was stupid, of course he would, but she got in on time when she lived in Queens, so she could do it again.

So preoccupied, she saw the shape moving toward her only in time to think, with the stupidity of shock, _Is he going to run into me?_

The man’s fist hit her jaw, not hard enough to knock her down, but hard enough to hurt like hell. Betty staggered back, tasting blood from where she’d bitten her tongue, but he was grabbing at the strap of her purse, high on her shoulder. She tried to shove him away, but he shoved her harder, ripping the purse away from her as she fell to the sidewalk. The purse and something else too – something was breaking –

 _My necklace!_ Betty clutched at her throat even as the guy ran away, but beads were scattering everywhere.

Just like that, he was gone. Only then did Betty realize she should have screamed for help, but it was too late. Her hip and knee burned from the tumble she’d taken onto the pavement, and her arm ached from having the purse ripped away. At the moment, though, she could only think about her precious necklace, the last and best gift her mother had ever given her.

On her hands and knees, Betty pawed around the sidewalk, looking for the B. If she had the B, then she could get another string of beads to hang it on. She wouldn’t lose everything, not if she could just find that.

Her finger found a shape – a tiny shard of the B. It had shattered. And she realized most of it had fallen down the gutter grate, which meant it was gone forever.

Betty remained on her hands and knees, staring down the grate, for what seemed like a very long time.

**

Daniel ran out of his apartment building despite the spring rain, hailed the first available taxi he saw and said the words you should never, ever say to a New York cabbie unless you mean business: “Step on it.”

As the cab accelerated to approximately Warp Five, Daniel braced himself and tried to control his temper. He was just so fucking mad at whoever this was who had hurt Betty just when she needed to catch a break. Already he’d had about twelve fantasies of somehow running into Betty just as she got off the subway, in time to see the mugger and heroically stop him – in these fantasies he had learned jujitsu, somehow, and also maybe they were in the Matrix, because he could kick the guy in the face without pulling every muscle he had.

But those were daydreams. Betty had needed an ass-kicker by her side about twenty minutes ago. Now she needed a friend.

And maybe she needed something else, besides –

When he made it to her apartment, and she opened the door, he held out his offering. “They didn’t have chili or cheese, but I figured some potatoes were better than no potatoes.”

Betty gave him a watery smile as she took the packet of fries from his hand. “Thanks.”

Daniel stepped inside and folded her in a one-armed hug – the only way to do it while she held the fries – but she shrank back. “Am I wet? It’s raining out.” Then his brain belatedly turned on, and he could have cursed himself. “Oh. Betty, I’m sorry. You’re probably – you don’t want to be touched after somebody hit you.”

“It’s okay if you touch me,” Betty said. “But it hurts.”

Sure enough, as she walked toward the sofa, her left foot limped slightly, and when Daniel sat by her side, he saw the reddish-purple bruise forming at her jawline. “Jesus, Betty. Are you sure you don’t need to go to the doctor?”

“I’ve spent enough time in hospitals for today.” Her voice was so small, so shaky – nothing like herself. She seemed almost meek as she clutched her fries, not actually eating them. “And I’m okay. Just sore.”

“Did you call the cops?”

“They took a statement over the phone. But they basically said that they couldn’t do much unless the guy tried to use my credit cards. I already called and canceled them all, so, too bad, jerk.” Betty attempted to smile, such a poor effort that it made his heart ache to see it. “And my cell phone and keys were in my jacket pocket. So all he got was my Metrocard, thirty bucks and a state ID that looks nothing like him. Well, he also got the purse, but it was a knockoff.”

“Still, I can’t believe that.” He admitted, “The whole way over here, I kept wishing I knew martial arts so I could, like, magically find this guy and kick his ass.”

Betty’s mouth twitched, but she was still a long way from a real smile. “I’m fine. Really. I shouldn’t even have called you. But I felt weird being alone, and Amanda and Marc seem to be out tonight, so – it was stupid.”

“Hey.” Daniel ventured a hand on her right shoulder, which seemed to be the less sore one. “It’s not stupid for you to call me. Ever. If you need me, I want to be here.”

“But you ran all the way over here, and it’s not like there’s anything you can do.”

“Well, one time I made you come all the way from Queens to advise me on the right shirt to wear, so, you know, I’m still digging my way out of that one.” That did make her smile a little, but he almost wished he hadn’t reminded her of yet another idiotic thing he’d done when they were first working together. “And I was able to bring you fries. See? I’m totally useful. Multi-purpose. I’m the Swiss Army knife of friends.”

“Okay, okay.” Although Betty was a long way from cheered up, she did start munching on a fry. He figured that was a good sign.

Lightning cracked outside, and Betty jumped – not merely startled, but actually scared. Daniel said, “Hey. It’s all right.”

“I know that. I do. I just – I’m okay,” she insisted. She put one hand to her chest, as if to steady herself. That drew Daniel’s attention to the odd red marks on her throat – and then he realized what she’d been wearing this morning that she didn’t have anymore.

“Oh, no. Your B necklace. Did it – do you – ” His voice trailed off as he saw Betty’s lower lip start to tremble. “Not the necklace. Not that.” That was her single most prized possession, gone. Jesus Christ, couldn’t Betty catch one single break? Once again, Daniel felt that new pull between them – that sense that her pain was his pain, that he had not choice but to feel what she felt. That necklace was like a part of her. Some jerk had ripped it away, for the sake of thirty bucks and a Metrocard.

Betty bit her lip, took a deep breath, then said, “I can’t think about it right now. All right?”

“All right.”

“I’m just … tired. I’m going to go to bed.” Daniel was on the verge of rising to excuse himself when she added, almost casually, “I don’t guess – would you mind crashing on the sofa? Just for tonight.”

She was spooked, he realized. She didn’t want to admit it; she wanted to hang on to what little dignity the thief had left her. So he answered as off-handedly as he could. “Yeah, sure. Swiss Army knife of friends, remember?”

“You’re the best.” Betty smiled at him unevenly before walking toward her bedroom space, helping herself to a fry as she went.

Turning in for the night was swift and not too awkward; Betty got ready for bed in her bathroom, and after a spirited debate with himself, Daniel decided to leave his jeans on. Sure, Betty had seen him in his boxers before – plenty of times – but it felt different now. She got into bed and let him turn out the lights.

Just as he snapped off the final lamp, Daniel glanced over at her bed; lightning flashed, briefly illuminating just the outline of her body beneath the blankets. Her day had apparently been so exhausting that she was already asleep, dark hair streaming behind her on the pillow. She lay on her side, curled into a comma. The lightning flickered again, teasing him with one more moment of her in her soft pink pajamas, before he was again in the dark, listening to distant thunder.

The image stayed with him as he settled onto the sofa, pulling an old afghan over himself. Betty, so vulnerable, so close, so in need of protection and care and comfort.

Daniel closed his eyes. The pictures in his mind twisted and swirled, caught in the Neverland between fantasy and dream.

 _“Daniel – hold me.”_

 _Needing comfort. Needing him, as badly as he needed her._

 _His arms sliding around her. Spooning next to her, his belly to her back. Nuzzling the nape of her neck. Betty turning toward him, their eyes meeting in one burst of lightning, before he brought his lips to hers. Kissing every bruise on her body, making them go away. Their breaths coming faster. Her bare skin against his. Drawing her thigh over his hip, asking permission with his touch, her smile a perfect and unmistakable yes –_

Daniel startled awake again, and he had to take a few deep breaths before he could ease himself back down. He’d never dreamed of Betty like that before – never fantasized about her, not even since his realization the night of the wedding. This was the first time.

But he knew it wouldn’t be the last.

The booming thunder outside seemed like a text message from God: _Could you stop being a horndog while your friend is in trouble?_ If God would say horndog.

It took him a long time to get back to sleep.

He awoke again to the sound of Betty’s alarm clock – damn, she got up early. The sun was hardly up. Daniel pushed himself into a seated position, rubbing his hair, as the buzzing stopped.

“Hey,” he said. “You okay?” Then Daniel saw her.

She was already on her feet, floral pajamas all rumpled. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and her hair was almost wild. The gleam in her eyes was equal parts anger and enthusiasm, and for one bewildered second, Daniel was afraid he’d talked in his sleep.

“I’m okay. I’m better than I’ve been in a long time. And you know why?” Betty gave him a fierce smile. “Because this is the day I stop letting life beat me down. Today is the day I start striking back.”

**

“Sorry, baby, I can’t break a twenty,” the guy at the coffee cart said to Betty, for about the eight hundredth time.

For the first time, she didn’t start scrambling through her purse to put together the correct price in change. Instead, Betty fixed him in her hardest stare. “I doubt that. You’ve been taking coffee orders since five a.m. All those people have paid you two dollars each. If you refused to break a twenty for any of them – like you always do for me – then you should have a few hundred singles by now. Which means you can give me eighteen singles.”

“No can do.”

“Fine,” Betty said. “I’ll go upstairs and tell my boss that we really should put that Starbucks in our lobby that he’s been thinking about. Which means I’ll never have to come here again. Neither will anybody else in my building. The one with dozens of stories and thousands of workers. Yes, you’re cheaper than Starbucks, but they’re lazy, and they don’t like to mess up their hair on windy days, or rainy days. On any days, really.”

The coffee guy looked more dubious than cowed, but it beat the flat disrespect he dished out most days. “You can’t get your boss to do that.”

“I got his mom acquitted of a murder charge. Believe me, if all I ask him for is a Starbucks kiosk? I’ll get it.”

She got her eighteen singles, though in the end Betty wasn’t sure whether she’d really won or if instead the coffee guy thought she was crazy. It didn’t matter, though – after four years, she’d finally forced that man to make change!

As Betty strode through the lobby, she felt only the slightest twinge from her sore shoulder, and it didn’t come close to damaging the electric thrill she felt. She’d awoken with the rock-solid conviction that, from now on, any obstacle that got in her face – whether it was the MTA, a mugger or even an obnoxious coffee vendor – well, they were going to get the Suarez smackdown.

She’d didn’t know exactly what a Suarez smackdown was, but she liked the sound of it and was willing to find out.

 _I look nice today,_ she thought, and felt a flare of pleasure in the knowledge that it was true – not by her former, “if you feel good it in it, it must be flattering!” standards but by actual MODE standards. Mustard-colored skirt, deep purple top, black belt, burgundy shoes. She’d put her cell phone, keys, a lipstick and the eighteen singles in a black patent clutch purse she’d swiped out of the swag pile but never gotten around to using before. It was a look the magazine would have featured. In color. And yet it was still entirely, wholly her.

Even her bruises were masked by concealer, applied just the way the December ’09 issue had suggested. Nobody would be able to tell what had happened to her. Betty preferred it that way.

 _That’s right. I’ve mastered MODE. This big, splashy fashion magazine tried to beat me down, and instead, I’ve learned everything it had to teach me. What’s next?_

At her desk, she multitasked furiously all morning. 400 words on colored tights for fall? Done! A phone call to Hilda to check on anything that needed doing at the house? Made! Wilhelmina wanted pitches for a photo feature on shoes? Brainstorming now! What was it Daniel had said last night – something about martial arts? Betty decided that Tae Kwon Do sounded promising, found a studio not far from her apartment, and signed herself up for an introductory lesson. The next mugger who crossed her path would regret it.

And that dating profile she’d been working on for elovely.com – the one that was half a joke, with all these audacious, flirtatious lines she would never have dreamed of really using, and that cell phone picture that showed off her cleavage – Betty pulled it up, took a deep breath, and hit Publish. She even activated the “speed dating” feature, which would let somebody get in touch if they wanted to see her as early as tonight.

Which was crazy. But striking back meant taking chances.

When she had a brief breather, not long before lunchtime, Betty opened another file that had been languishing lately: Her updated resume.

She’d sent it to Lindsay Dunne before meeting with him about the original, part-time gig. It had been good enough, combined with their meetings, to win her an editor-in-chief job.

What else might it do for her?

Betty knew a few places she could send it – publications here in New York. No, none of them were looking for a new editor, and her lost London still shone too brightly in her memories. But they were all places she’d love to work. They might want people at her current level or maybe higher. And they’d offer her the fresh start she’d so desperately wanted, but right here in town, where she could still help care for Papi.

 _Yes,_ Betty thought. _I can do this. I feel like I could do anything._

She began composing the e-mail, drawing out cards from her Rolodex to fill in the addresses she needed – all contacts she’d cultivated carefully over the years –

Her phone chimed, showing her a text from Daniel. _Ready for lunch?_

Café Un Deux Trois. Delicious fancy.

Betty hesitated, remembering how she’d realized at the wedding that the hardest part of going to London would be telling Daniel goodbye. How he’d stayed with her that whole terrible night of Papi’s heart attack. The way he’d known, without having to be told, how much it had hurt her to lose her necklace. That was the only time she’d come close to crying, after the mugging – when she’d seen that he already knew what was in her heart. Why did that moment touch her more than any other memory of their long friendship?

She sent the resume and the text of the letter to her personal email address, so she could check it at home. That was all stuff she could think about later.

Now, she replied to Daniel: _Let’s go._

**

“What do you mean, the Freedom of Information Act doesn’t extend to inmates’ names?” Wilhelmina stared at her phone as if it were personally responsible for this. “Then what good is it?”

In her doorway, Marc appeared. He made a vague swirly gesture with his hand; years of assistant bonding, plus a dash of Stockholm Syndrome, had created a certain telepathy between them that allowed her to read this perfectly as, _Should I come back later, or will I end up hearing all about it anyway, which makes my staying now useful as well as vicariously enjoyable?_

She tapped the desk, which in the same language meant: _Park it right here, mister._ Marc scurried to his usual chair.

The man on the other end of the line was patently useless. She snapped, “Do I seem like someone who would be planning a jailbreak?” When Marc shot her a look, she sent one back that meant, _Yes, but he doesn’t know that._ “Fine. You’ve made your point. Please go back to withering away under fluorescent lighting like the do-nothing bureaucrat you are.” She slammed the receiver down and sank back into her chair. “Where’s this so-called ‘big government’ when you need it?”

“Shameful,” Marc said. “Disgraceful. You’d think they’d have a little website set up with all their photos and names – sort of like an eHarmony to match up the incarcerated and the menopausal Pentecostal women who want to love them.”

Wilhelmina arched an eyebrow. “Dudecruise.com isn’t working out for you any longer?”

It was a joke, no more, but for some reason Marc took it hard. He seemed to wither a bit as he sat there, going weak and pale like a supermodel on day eight of nothing but pomegranate juice and Virginia Slims.

She folded her arms, glad she was wearing her gray suit with the metallic weave; it made her extra forceful. That would be necessary to convince Marc she actually wanted to hear about his life. “Romantic troubles abound, I take it.”

“Let’s just say that I think Fat Carol was right about the stars turning against us.” As if that would be enough to satisfy her. Wilhelmina fixed Marc with her most piercing stare for the 1.3 seconds it took him to break. “Okay. We’re sharing photo space with HUDSON now, which means I’m down there all the time – and it turns out they’ve got Cliff on retainer. I hadn’t seen him in forever, and now I’m going to be seeing him all the time.”

“Cliff. He was your boyfriend for some time there – the sort of furry one, wasn’t he?”

“You should see him now. Total ‘After’ picture.” Marc put the page proofs on her desk, but without any of his usual flair – he was like a week-old tulip wilting in its vase.

Quietly, Wilhelmina said, “If you want to hand off your supervisory duties for a week or so – to get used to it – you know that would be fine.”

Marc gave her the half-thankful, half-wary look that was his usual response to her occasional kindnesses. “Thanks, but – I need to brave it out, you know? It won’t get easier if I wait.”

The one day she’d waited for news about Connor had more than reminded her how grating delays could be. “I see your point.”

If she didn’t want to wait longer to learn more about Connor – she’d have to do more than get fierce.

She’d have to humble herself.

Was he worth it?

**

Daniel could only stare at Betty across the table. “Tae Kwon Do?”

“I can’t wait.” She sipped the last of her water with lemon, eyes focused more on the street outside – and whatever distant future she’d glimpsed for herself – than on him. “I’m not taking any more of this lying down, you know? I need to protect myself.”

So much for his dreams of protecting her. Which was stupid, Daniel knew – he wasn’t enough of an ass to wish that things would keep going wrong for Betty just so that he could keep proving himself useful.

Maybe he liked that image of holding her in her bed a little too much …

“And I’ve got a fantastic idea to run by Wilhelmina for the shoes feature. I was thinking, it’s all a dog’s POV.”

“A dog?” Daniel tried to envision it as he quickly signed the check the waiter had brought for him. “Like, one of the cute little lapdogs people carry around these days. Jeweled collars and Chanel coats, that kind of thing?”

Betty brightened. “Exactly. Maybe several of them so we can color-coordinate with each pair of shoes – and I can’t believe I’m talking about color-coordinating dogs. But, see, you can show a fancy pair of heels on a woman sitting at a fancy dinner table, sneaking the dog a bit of food. Or a dog lying at someone’s feet, relaxing, next to more casual flats. Even a puppy trying to chew on a pair, if we can figure out a way to shoot that without damaging the shoe.”

It was coming to him now. “And you can show a dog being walked on a rhinestone leash. Wrapped around the woman’s legs, so you get a good look at the shoes.”

“You’re seeing it, right?”

“Yeah, definitely.” It was original, witty, colorful, and totally focused on the footwear: Just about perfect. The dogs would be slightly difficult to shoot, but that would probably be a good way to make the images feel more organic and spontaneous. “Betty, that’s terrific.”

“Do you think Wilhelmina will go for it too?”

“She’d be crazy not to. Which I guess means it’s fifty-fifty. But I’m going to tell her I like it.”

“Yes!” Betty did a little fist-pump of victory, which made him chuckle.

An idea came to him then, either incredibly great or incredibly stupid. He couldn’t tell yet. Definitely incredible, though. He’d have to consider. For now, Daniel preferred to concentrate on her.

They strolled back through Midtown together toward the MODE offices, still brainstorming funny ways to photograph dogs and shoes. It was the next-to-last day of April, a perfect spring afternoon – sunny, warm and just breezy enough to ruffle Betty’s hair. The rain clouds were all gone. Daniel felt his spirits rising to match hers as optimism flowed into him along with the sunshine.

She was doing better. Not just better – great. Life had thrown some obstacles her way, but she was back in step now. Eager to take on new challenges. New pursuits.

Maybe new romances.

So how could they begin? Daniel hadn’t gotten as far as making plans yet. Just tackling her across his desk one day wasn’t the way to go – though that was pretty good fantasy fodder, now that he thought of it. They could take in a movie or get dinner, not so different than usual, but he could sort of lead into it … start putting his arm around her, sound her out, see if the idea was taking root for her …

“Oh, dropped ice cream!” Betty seized his arm as they walked into the Meade Publications lobby, mostly emphasizing her point, but he noticed she kept holding onto him as they went. “The woman can have dropped her ice cream from the cone – some really bright sherbet – right next to white shoes, and the puppy can lick it up.”

“Cute,” said Sofia Reyes.

Dammit, twice in two days? “Good afternoon,” Daniel said, pulling Betty toward the elevators; Sofia seemed to be on her way out, so there was no need for them to chat.

As they went, though, Betty threw Sofia a look over one shoulder. “Thanks – but I didn’t ask you.” Sofia looked like she’d been smacked for the split second he saw her before the elevator doors shut around them.

Daniel gave Betty an admiring look. “Mee-yow.”

She wrinkled her nose. “That sounds really weird when you say it.”

“It does, doesn’t it? Won’t say it again. But still – you really shut her down.” He settled himself, legs apart, shoulders squared – editor guy again – but he couldn’t stop his smile. “I appreciate it.”

“That was for me as much as for you. She not only hurt you – she used me to do it. And I looked up to her, you know? That was the kind of person I was trying to be. At any rate, I was trying to be the kind of person she was pretending to be.” Betty’s phone chimed, and when she glanced down at it, her eyes widened. “Oh, my God.”

“Is everything okay?” Not her father, please – but no. Betty was starting to grin.

“This guy – sorry, but I actually – well, I put my profile on this dating site this morning. During a totally legitimate coffee break, I swear! And this guy wants to meet for dinner tonight.” Betty showed Daniel the screen, which revealed the picture of a dispiritingly attractive young man. “He’s hot, right?”

Daniel swallowed hard. “Smoking.”

“You know what? I’m going for it.” Betty started typing enthusiastically. “I’ll see if he can meet me for late drinks – that gives me time to get back in from the hospital. And hey, that’s kind of sexy, right? A late night cocktail?”

Dead sexy. Daniel could see her now, walking through a candlelit bar, long hair brushing her shoulders, a drink in hand as she looked at her date. Her date who was somebody else.

He cleared his throat. “Are you sure you’re not – I don’t know – rushing things?”

“I am rushing. That’s the whole point. I’m running at everything life gives me as fast as I can.” She threw a saucy smile at him as she strode off the elevator. “And I’m loving it.”

Daniel managed to get back to his office on autopilot.

All this time, he’d been worried about hurrying things – and instead, she was leaving him behind.

**

Bryant Park was a fabulous place for outdoor lunching on a beautiful day, and Marc had managed to snag a table right next to the green grass. So he should have been elated. Not deflated.

“Why are you so sad?” Amanda dug into her massive sandwich from ‘Wich-craft. “Cliff’s back in your life, right?”

“He’s back in my office building. Big difference.”

“Doesn’t have to be.” She licked a bit of mayo from the corner of her mouth, like a contented cat. “Love’s not that complicated, really.”

“Oh, puh-leeze. Tyler calls you once during his designated 15 minutes of phone time a week, and all of a sudden, you’re Oprah and Dr. Phil wrapped into one.”

Amanda shrugged. “Learn from my wisdom or don’t, puny mortal. But here’s what I see when I break it down, Mandy-style.” She started ticking off points on her fingers. “You want a good relationship. The best relationship you ever had was with Cliff. You’re 100 percent responsible for that blowing up in your face – ”

“Is this a pep talk or psychological torture? Because the distinction seems a little hazy for you.”

Plowing on, undeterred, Amanda said, “—because Cliff always wanted to be with you. Then, you weren’t ready to commit to someone. Now, you are. And now Cliff’s back in your life. Explain to me how that is bad news.”

Well. When he broke it down – Mandy-style – it didn’t look that bad. It didn’t look bad at all, really. Except … “He wasn’t happy to see me. It was like he didn’t care at all.”

“Bruised feelings. It’s natural. You can get him past that. Especially if you wear those hot-ass skinny jeans I found for you.”

Jeans at MODE? Only doable on a summer Friday, and then only if he accessorized the hell out of them. But they did cup the right curves. “I don’t know. But maybe it’s worth a shot.”

“You know it is.” Amanda picked up the second half of her sandwich, ready to devour it as quickly as the first. “Go get your man, baby.”

**

Wilhelmina wasn’t good at humbling herself, but at least when it came to her father, she had some practice.

“I find this questionable at best, Wanda.” He was in full senatorial mode, his bass voice rumbling so that she could feel the aftershocks all the way from Washington, D.C. “Connor Owens nearly destroyed your company.”

“I need to talk to him, Dad.”

“This isn’t like you.” The pause that followed made Wilhelmina wish they were having this conversation face to face, instead of over the phone; her dad almost sounded … concerned. “You don’t risk your career over your personal life. You don’t risk your career for anything.”

“I’m not risking my career. It’s like you said – the man is in jail. What damage can he do?”

“You tell me.”

She almost regretted even telling her father that she and Connor had been involved. Then again, a year and a half ago, the possibilities for them had seemed endless. When she thought of how joyfully Connor had entered into every phase of her life – even holding baby William during the few months she thought he was hers, willing to change their sophisticated, sexy romance into a cuddly little family – the only time she’d ever wanted anything cuddly in her whole life –

Well. She wasn’t going to think about that any longer.

Instead, she lashed out. “This is about getting answers, Dad. After the last round of ethics hearings, I should think you’d appreciate the importance of getting the straight story.”

He snapped, “If this is what you want, Wanda, then take it. Connor Owens is indeed incarcerated at Adirondack. Enjoy your drive upstate, and your straight story. May they provide all the comfort you’ll ever need.”

The connection went dead. Wilhelmina paused, wanting to call him back and apologize, but knowing she wouldn’t.

Besides, she had other matters to plan now.

Such as a trip upstate.

**

That night, Betty left the hospital in good spirits – Dad was better than he’d been since the heart attack, and even Elena was in a better mood. Plus, she had her date to look forward to. As ever, she was even trying to think of magazine pitches that related to what was going on with her day: The 10 Sexiest Cocktails You Can Order? Meaningless, but fun, and probably worth a shot. Not that she was going to have ten cocktails tonight.

But she was definitely good for two cocktails. Maybe even three. It was a Friday night, and she had a date with a hot guy, and her life was definitely back on track.

As she began walking up the subway steps, though, she found herself slowing – hesitating before she reached the top. Betty knew it was ridiculous, but she couldn’t shake the thought of her mugger waiting there, ready to hit her again …

Her stomach clenched. Despite the warm weather, a chill shivered over her body, and suddenly her limbs felt too heavy to move. Betty’s fingers reached for her throat, seeking her B necklace by force of habit; she’d never realized that she sometimes touched it for courage until now, when it wasn’t there. She stopped, halfway up the steps, just for a second – until somebody behind her called, “Move it!”

Betty moved it. Squaring her shoulders, she decided that if anybody messed with her this time, they’d be sorry.

Nobody did. It was a nice night, and everyone was out; even by NYC standards, the streets were crowded. Betty strode toward the restaurant, her courage returning to her with each step.

Of course, she had braced herself. There was every chance that “Nelson” was not, in fact, the gorgeous, chisel-jawed blond she’d seen in his online photo, but instead a balding, twitchy 50-year-old who would smell like Burger King wrappers. But the actual outcome of the date itself didn’t matter that much to her; it was more about having the guts to try it.

At least, it didn’t matter much until she walked into the bar, looked through the relative gloom – and saw the gorgeous, chisel-jawed blond himself, raising a hand to her in welcome.

 _Whoa,_ Betty thought. _Maybe Mercury left retrograde all of a sudden._

“Nelson? Hi! I’m Betty.” She slid onto the barstool next to him. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too! Thanks for being game to ‘speed date’ – sometimes you just need to get out, you know?” Nelson had a great smile. He wore nice cologne, and not too much of it. He looked like he could have stepped out of the pages of HUDSON. And he leaned slightly closer to her as she got settled. This night – this whole week – was definitely looking up.

“Absolutely. So – now we have to do the whole ‘tell me about yourself’ thing.” Betty tried out a flirtatious smile; the idea was still new to her, post-braces, but she was determined to get the hang of it. “Any idea how to keep it fresh?”

“Hmmm. No answers of more than two words. Plus, no questions. Just back and forth.”

“Sounds good. Okay, I’ll start. Hmmm – I know! Magazines.”

“Real estate.”

“Single.”

“Divorced.”

“Taurus.”

“Gemini.”

“Lifetime local.”

“From Iowa.”

She was really starting to like this guy. “Crazy family.”

“Crazy family.”

“Love them.”

“Same here.”

They both started to laugh at the same moment, which was when the bartender finally noticed they were alive. “What are you guys having?”

Nelson said, “Scotch and soda.”

So, what would be a sexy cocktail to order? For some reason, Betty found herself flashing back to a MODE event early in her time there; she’d found it so funny that Daniel drank anything as girly as an appletini, and yet she’d somehow always thought of it as a sexy drink ever since. She shaped her full lips around the word: “Appletini, please.”

Nelson’s face crumpled. As she watched, flabbergasted, his eyes began to fill with tears.

“Nelson? What’s wrong?” Betty put one hand on his shoulder, just in time to feel it start shaking.

“I’m sorry. It’s just – an appletini – that was Anjuli’s drink.”

Well, she’d known there had to be a catch somewhere. With a sigh, she patted him reassuringly. “Tell me about Anjuli.”

Anjuli turned out to be Nelson’s ex-girlfriend, from whom he’d split up only two weeks before. She was the person he’d started dating just after his divorce. “My rebound, right? I always thought she was just a rebound.” He took a swig of his second scotch; by now, they were in a corner booth and he’d been venting for nearly half an hour. “So I told myself all the differences between us didn’t matter. So what if she was ten years older than me? So what if she was vegan? So what if she never wanted to move to Iowa someday? She wasn’t Miss Right. She was Miss Right Now.”

“But you’re having second thoughts.”

“We split up – I told her I didn’t see a future for us, so she walked – and now all I can think about is how much different my future would look with her in it. How much better.”

“I think you should tell her that. Don’t you?”

“She wants to have a baby soon,” Nelson said. His face started to brighten. “That ought to scare me, but – it doesn’t. Jesus, I don’t care if I ever eat bacon again. If that’s not love, what is?”

“See?” Betty had to smile at him. “You know what you need to do. So your future doesn’t look the way you planned it. Nobody’s does, in the end.”

Nelson slumped back in the booth, obviously happier and more relaxed than he’d been since she’d arrived – really, she thought, since he’d broken up with Anjuli. “God, I feel so much better just having talked to you about this. First thing tomorrow morning, I start Operation Get Anjuli Back.”

“That’s the spirit.”

He gave her a look. “I feel bad – I mean, you thought you were going on a date tonight. Instead you’ve played couples counselor.”

Betty shrugged as she traced the rim of her appletini glass. “It’s okay. I’ve enjoyed it anyway.” Weirdly, she had. Somehow, talking Nelson through his problems had brought her back to herself … not the depressed, frightened person she’d been during her string of bad luck, nor the crazily enthusiastic woman she’d been all day. That, too, had been fear; she’d just chosen a different way of showing it. Now she felt that she was back on steady ground.

“You’re a hell of a girl,” Nelson said. “Any guy who wasn’t madly in love with someone else would be thanking his lucky stars right now, just for the chance to meet you.”

“Hopefully some guy will soon. For now – here’s to love.” They clinked their glasses together for the final toast of the night.

**

Daniel held off on texting Betty all weekend. Saturday morning, he’d thought, was too soon to text and ask how her hot date went; that was too obvious. Pushy. He didn’t want to push. Then it was Saturday night, and he didn’t particularly feel like revealing that he was spending his Saturday night at home watching a marathon of “Say Yes To The Dress.” No, Sunday. Sunday would be good.

But then he’d spent Sunday thinking that he’d left it too long, and every hour he wondered if it really was too late just made it later, so he’d decided to text or talk to her about it today. Or maybe email.

By the time he walked into the Meade Publications building at nine a.m., Daniel had settled on contacting Betty via text at or about 10:13 a.m. as the perfect, non-pushy, yet still concerned time frame.

Box tucked under his arm, he walked into the elevator – but before the doors could shut, Sofia stepped in too, wearing an orange sheath dress that outlined every curve of her sensational body. Daniel tried not to visibly flinch. Sofia said, “Rotten luck we’re having.”

“Definitely.”

“I don’t usually get in this late.”

“I don’t usually get in this early. So we should be good from here on.”

“Okay.” They rode another couple of flights up in silence, before Sofia said, “Listen, Daniel. I know it would be better if we never talked about this again – but you should know that I’ve sincerely regretted what I did to you every single day since. I’m truly sorry.”

Did he care? A little, maybe. But mostly he didn’t want to talk about it. “I appreciate that. But let’s just leave it in the past, all right? Better all around.”

“In the past,” Sofia agreed, her expression thoughtful. “You weren’t like this, when I first knew you. Mature, or strong. You’ve superseded all my expectations.”

“I haven’t been waiting for you to issue me a report card.” Well, that was bitchy. Daniel sighed and tried again. “Seriously, let’s let it go.”

“Let me say one more thing, and then it’s over forever,” she promised. “The person I pretended to be with you … that’s the person I wish I were more like. The person I hope to be when I grow up, if we ever really grow up. I’m grateful I knew you, if for no other reason that I learned what that person was like.”

The person she’d pretended to be. The real woman he loved. Daniel was too familiar with that idea.

But he found himself remembering something Betty had said after their lunch at Café Un Deux Trois: The person Sofia had been pretending to be was also the person Betty had hoped to become.

The person Betty _had_ become.

Successful, confident, warm, family-oriented, funny, spirited, brave, principled, caring: That was Betty. That was the woman he loved.

All those years ago, he hadn’t fallen in love with Sofia at all; he’d fallen in love with the woman Betty was going to be.

Why had it taken him so long to realize it?

Daniel realized that he’d started grinning like a loon. As the elevator reached MODE’s floor, he quickly said, “That’s great. Thanks, Sofia.”

“Thanks, Daniel,” she said, in a way that made him think she might believe that smile was for her. But it didn’t matter what Sofia thought. What he’d just learned about himself mattered a whole lot more.

**

As Betty leaned into Daniel’s office, she said, “Nothing.”

Daniel looked up from the Book, startled. “Huh?”

She held up her phone with the text he’d sent her at 10:13 that morning, which read, _What happened with your date?_ “Nothing happened with my date.”

He smiled at her so broadly that he must have been attempting to reassure her. “Let me guess. That wasn’t his real photo on the profile?”

“That was his real photo, and in fact, he was a terrific guy.” Betty sat on one of the white leather chaise-longues with a sigh. “But he wasn’t over his ex. So I talked him into getting back together with her – which he has, by the way. He emailed me about it on Sunday. The three of us might do brunch sometime.”

Daniel rose from his desk and walked toward her, his expression bemused. “I don’t know whether to sympathize with you or congratulate you.”

“Neither, I think.” Betty scooted over to make room for him to sit beside her on the chaise. “Last week – after the mugging – I was acting a little crazy. It was like, if I didn’t tackle the whole world at once, it would tackle me.”

“It seemed like it had tackled you.”

“I know, right? But it’s okay. I’ve got my feet under me again.”

“So, the Tae Kwon Do lessons are off, then.”

“No – I think I’m going to check those out. I mean, it’s good exercise, right? But I’ve … calmed down a bit. And I took down the dating-site profile,” she confessed. “It’s worth waiting on someone who really knows me, you know? Not just a picture on a screen. Someone who cares about who I really am.”

“Great idea,” Daniel said. “Fantastic. Totally – yeah.”

“Well, you’re awfully enthusiastic,” Betty teased. “Do you have someone in mind?” She shuddered to think of who Daniel might set her up with. Images of a potential blind date between her and Becks flickered in her mind, like the most hilarious movie she never, ever wanted to see.

Daniel looked awkward for a moment – poor guy, did he think she actually expected him to fix her up? – but he quickly changed the subject. “Listen. I did something. It’s either really thoughtful or massively insensitive. I’m not sure which.”

“Okay, you’ve piqued my interest.”

“If it’s massively insensitive, can I get a take-back?”

“Oh, wait, this involves me?” Betty braced herself. “All right. You get a take-back, just in case. We can put this whole next couple of minutes on rewind if necessary.”

He took a deep breath, then handed her something from the pocket of his suit jacket – what looked to be a jewelry box. “This is partly because I forgot your birthday again.”

“This year I forgot my birthday.” Having your father hospitalized just a few days beforehand could throw you off, big time. “So you’re off the hook this time. But still – I’ll take it.” Instead of smiling at her, he seemed to get more nervous. What kind of birthday gift could he have gotten her that was potentially massively insensitive? She glanced up at him quizzically before opening it … and then all she could do was stare down at the golden letter B.

“I know nothing can actually replace the necklace your mom got you,” Daniel said in a rush. “Maybe it was stupid to even try. But – Mom’s a member of all the museums, and I saw this in the Met catalog a couple of months ago and thought, ‘hey, that’s Betty’s necklace.’ It’s a replica of one Anne Boleyn used to have, but, uh, I’m sure you knew that. Anyway. If this is only, I don’t know, a bad reminder of what you lost, I can send this right back, but I thought maybe –”

Betty cut him off by throwing her arms around him and hugging him as tightly as she possibly could. After a second, he embraced her in turn. They didn’t talk for a while after that; she wasn’t even sure she could get words out of her throat, which was tight with unshed tears.

Finally, Daniel said, “So, no rewind?”

“No rewind.” Betty let him go so that she could pick the necklace up. It was exactly like the lost one in every way. “This was definitely on the really thoughtful side.”

He still looked sheepish, like he couldn’t believe he’d gotten this right. “You’re sure? I don’t want to act like you didn’t lose something important to you.”

As Betty unclipped the necklace, she said, “You’re right. Nothing really replaces Mom’s necklace. But this – this one can remind me of what she gave to me, and how much she loved me. And also how lucky I am to have you in my life.” She grinned up at Daniel. “This B necklace reminds me of two people I care about, not just one. So that makes it pretty special.” She handed it to him. “Put it on me?”

Carefully, he slid the necklace around her neck, and she lifted her heavy hair so that he could fasten the clasp. His fingertips brushed against her skin, making her almost ticklish – that and his breath upon her shoulder – but then the familiar weight of the B and its pearls settled against her chest again, and she breathed out a deep sigh of relief. “That’s good?” Daniel said.

“That’s perfect.” Betty kissed him on the cheek – quick and sweet – and was surprised to see him blush a little. Daniel really could be adorable sometimes. “I’d say Mercury is definitely out of retrograde.”

**

Later that night, at home, as Betty changed into her pajamas while keeping the necklace on, she found herself remembering Daniel’s face as he’d given it to her. He really was one of the best people in her life – not just now, but ever.

 _And so you’re thinking of abandoning him?_

A few feet away, upon her laptop screen, was her updated resume and the email she’d composed to prospective employers. It had been up for the better part of an hour, and she still wasn’t sure what to do.

Betty took a seat in front of the computer and thought about it. Her fingers fondled the B at her throat while she thought, _Daniel’s not someone I could ever walk away from. I always want us to be close, and I know he feels the same way._

The natural conclusion to draw from that was simple: They would forever be a part of each other’s lives – whether she worked at MODE or not.

Relieved, confident once more, Betty grinned as she clicked SEND.

 

END

Next time, on Ugly Betty Season Five: New York, New York – “The Homecoming Game.”

 

 _Songs From This Episode: “You and Moon,” Adem; “Violin,” Amos Lee; “Melt Your Heart,” Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins; and “Shine (Club Mix)” by the Lovefreeks_


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